


It's a brave new world

by Ischa



Series: The pillars of the earth [2]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Episode: s04e18 The Wall, F/M, M/M, Multi, Sexual Content, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sylar saves Emma, Peter and Emma are dating and Sylar is living at Peter's apartment trying to find something they didn't quite lost, while Peter is waiting for the future he's seen to come true.<br/><i>“No, I am...” he stops, the word villain doesn't fit anymore.<br/>“Sylar,” she finishes for him and he nods.<br/>“Yes, I am Sylar.” And that is all he will ever be. And it's up to Peter to find a way to accept it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a brave new world

**Title:** It's a brave new world  
 **Pairing:** Sylar/Peter/Emma  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Summary:** In which Sylar saves Emma, Peter and Emma are dating and Sylar is living at Peter's apartment trying to find something they didn't quite lost, while Peter is waiting for the future he's seen to come true.  
 _“No, I am...” he stops, the word villain doesn't fit anymore.  
“Sylar,” she finishes for him and he nods.  
“Yes, I am Sylar.” And that is all he will ever be. And it's up to Peter to find a way to accept it._  
 **Warning(s):** angst, sex, threesome, spoilers up to Brave New World  
 **Author’s Notes:** Sequel to 'The pillars of the earth'. Quotes by: The All-American Rejects, Heroes and Maroon 5. Dialogue quotes from Heroes.  
 **Word Count:** 5.228  
 **Beta:** ariana_paris (thanks a lot!)  
 **Disclaimer:** Don’t know, don’t own, not real

\--+--  
 **~Chapter One~  
Welcome to the real world **

~+~  
The first thing in the real world (besides the surge of his powers cruising through his veins again) is of course a villain. It nearly makes him laugh. Doesn't Sullivan know that he is the most powerful being on the planet? Not even Peter would be able to stop him now, if he wanted. Peter who lost his powers.  
The next obstacle is Matt.

'How could you ever win?' he asks Peter silently. Because being a hero is so much harder than being the bad guy.

'It's who I am,' Peter answers in his head. It's different to hear him there, like that. He feels too close and Sylar feels exposed in a way he didn't when they were alone. Trapped in his mind. He wants his walls back, just for a second. It passes.  
They don't have time for this. For Matt and his doubts. They need to save thousands of people and Emma. Emma is the reason he is here, Emma, whom Peter wants saved. He banishes the thought as it's really unwelcome right now and on every other day, in every other minute as well.

“Sylar killed your brother Peter!” Matt says, pissed off.

“I've repented,” he answers, quietly.

“Yeah? During the nightmare? Right and that lasted what? A couple of hours?”

“Not for us, man. It was five years,” Peter says. Something in his voice makes it hard to swallow for a few seconds. It passes.

“I don't expect you to understand what happened and I don't expect you to forgive me...” Sylar tries. Being a good person seems to be all about how people are seeing you and how much they are willing to trust and believe.

“Good! Cause that will never happen,” Matt says.

“I've done so much wrong to so many people. Just give me a chance to redeem myself.” It's not exactly his own idea, it's more like a small voice at the back of his head, that could be Nathan, could be Peter. Still, it seems like a good idea to offer Matt his mind. So he can see for himself. See Sylar for what he is, who he is now. He sees Peter nod out of the corner of his eye and that seems to settle things for Matt. Peter has that effect on people, he guesses.  
And still Matt doubts and Sylar knows his words are more a plea and he hates it a bit, but he needs to do what needs to be done.

“You need to trust us, Matt,” Peter says beside him and something inside him cheers at the 'us'. That Peter is including him in all this.

“Fine, just get the hell out of my home,” Matt says after a short silence. And then Peter grabs his arm to take him with him.

“Let's go,” he says and that's it.  
The hero wins.

~+~  
He can't help touching Peter, he can't help it. And besides he is not the only one. Peter does it as well, unconsciously maybe, but he does it.  
He feels Peter breathe under his palm. All the worry, all the doubt. He pushes, just a bit.

“Trust me,” he says and he means it. And then he turns and leaves Peter, whom he trusts to stop Samuel. He leaves to save the only person on earth Peter wants saved more than any other.  
Emma.

~+~  
Her fingers are bleeding and the blood is staining the strings, heavy drops sliding slowly to the ground. She looks like someone Peter could love, like someone he would love. Peter always had a thing for normal women with complicated lives. As if easy just wasn't his thing. He needed a challenge maybe, maybe someone whom he could save.  
She doesn't seem afraid of him, but maybe it's because she never heard of him. And now, she doesn't need to be afraid of him anymore.  
He thinks that he should have known. The only explanation would be Doyle. She just doesn't seem the type to lead lambs to slaughter with a siren song.

~+~  
Saving people is a tough job. And maybe that's why this always is a group effort for them all. Even Emma, Emma who doesn't know him. She helps to save her life and the lives of thousands of innocent people. Distracting Doyle long enough so that he can take control of the situation again.

“Sylar, please. Listen to me. Please, Samuel made me do it.” And Sylar doesn't believe him and besides he can detect lies. No one can make someone do anything, well, except Doyle and maybe him himself. Maybe Matt as well and Peter, but they wouldn't...okay, that is a scary world they're living in.

“Really? 'Cause I thought you were the puppet master.”

“Oh, come on. What do you care about this girl, anyway?” Doyle asks and on every other day the answer would be: Nothing. He wouldn't care about her, maybe about her power, but not about the person she is, he wouldn't even know her name.

“I am here to save her,” he answers.

“That's not you. You're like me.” Maybe a part of him still is, but that part isn't in control today, not here, not now.

“No. I'm a hero.”

~+~  
Peter comes back just as he finishes his Doyle art. He comes back with Emma, who is still bleeding. Something tender creeps around inside him, something he doesn't want to deal with now.

“What do you think?” he asks and just looks at Peter. Peter doesn't say anything, but he looks between amused and disapproving. Sylar isn't concerned. “I like it,” he adds. He really does and as he says it, he sees Emma smile, just a little. Like she's ashamed for it. He thinks she really shouldn't be.

**  
~Chapter Two~  
Hit the ground **

~+~  
“She changed everything,” Peter says. Sylar knows that Claire will not tell anyone any names, but now everyone knows that there are people with abilities, people that are special.

“Peter,” Emma says softly. She is clutching a mug of tea in her slender fingers. She is afraid. Maybe they all should be.

“I've seen the future,” Peter says and then: “I've seen versions of the future and this, this can't end well. Not for us.” He leans heavily onto the wall behind him and closes his eyes.

“It doesn't have to be like that. Didn't you change the future already?” Sylar asks. Peter opens his eyes to look at him. It seems he is still not sure what to do with Sylar. Why he is even here. “You could do it again,” he adds.

“What if I'm tired of saving the world?” Peter asks.

“You're the hero, that's what you do,” Sylar answers. Emma nods. He speaks slowly for her sake. Not slow, but slower than he maybe would normally. She puts the mug on the table, gets up and cups Peter's chin in her hand. He leans into it, closing his eyes again. Sylar can't look, but can't look away either.

“I didn't save you,” he says into her hand.

“You sent someone who could,” she answers, her thumb stroking gently over his skin.

~+~  
Whatever they maybe had is not so simple here. Whatever they meant to each other it doesn't mean anything here. The real world is made of more than just them and buildings like pillars that are only built to hold the sky of a world he created. The real world is still just that; the real world, with the difference that now everybody who cares to believe knows that there are people like him and Peter and Emma and Claire.  
He doesn't want to count the hours until Peter comes home. He doesn't, but he can't help it. Sylar knows he's with her and it's only natural. He always was into women. The thing, whatever it was, was only because they were alone. Because there was no one else to turn to for warmth and proximity and...human contact. Even in his mind he can't say the L-word. It doesn't feel right.

~+~  
He lives with Peter because he doesn't have an apartment of his own and besides he is sure people are still looking for him. For the world he is still a killer. He is _still_ a killer. He can't undo this. That is what he's done and saying sorry doesn't change it or excuse murder.  
He sleeps on Peter's couch, because he doesn't know what else to do. He supposes he could fix watches again, could manipulate people into hiring him, find a new apartment and leave here. Leave Peter to be with her.  
He's too selfish to do just that. Just yet.  
There is no one who could understand what he feels, who he is. There is only Peter. And the funny thing is that it maybe always was Peter. The empath. They fought and killed each other and in the end they maybe saved each other as well. But all this is gone and meaningless.  
He stares up at the ceiling. White, like nearly everything in this apartment. Kind of unlived. They are like ghosts sharing the same space.

~+~  
Sylar knows Peter is waiting. Waiting for the panic to set in. Waiting to be found out and hunted. Waiting for all these horrible things he's already seen. Maybe waiting to lose Emma as well. Like the few other women he loved and lost. Like he lost Nathan.

“The fact that there is an Emma right here, right now with you, should tell you something,” he says, not looking up from his book.

“What?” Peter wants to know.

“That the future is still unwritten. Nothing is set in stone.” He looks up and at Peter, to make him believe.

“I've seen it,” Peter insists.

“You didn't see me, did you?” he asks. Peter bites his lip and looks away. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Peter. What?”

“It's nothing,” he says again, but he is still not looking at Sylar and Sylar knows him, knows how Peter looks when he's lying and besides his ability is kicking in. He just _knows_.

“What did you see in the future?” He is sitting really straight now, watching Peter battle with himself.

“You, I've seen you repented and happy and normal...” he trails off.

“What else?”

“You had a child,” Peter says, closing his eyes briefly and when he opens them again his eyes are clouded with sadness. “He died.”

“Was killed,” Sylar says.

Peter nods. “Was killed,” he repeats.

“Even so, this is not the future I will have,” Sylar answers. This is not the future I want, he thinks. But what he wants seems out of reach right now. So far away he can't even see it anymore.

“I'm sorry,” Peter says.

“What for?” Sylar wants to know. It feels like a déjà-vu. Time is a circle after all.

“I don't know...” he trails off, leaning on the wall for support.

“Then don't say it,” Sylar answers.  
And Peter keeps silent.

~+~  
He doesn't want to like her, but it's really hard not to like Emma. She is strong and stubborn and talented and wants to help people. Save lives. She's funny and smart.  
Sometimes when he comes home she is sitting on a chair (she brought it herself) in the living room and plays the cello. And it sounds beautiful and makes him ache.  
Sometimes Peter is listening as well and watching something Sylar can't see.

“It's her gift.” Peter always calls it gift.

“Hmmm?”

“She can see the music, she can see sound,” Peter answers, staring at things Sylar can't see. He could ask her and she would surely allow him to take her ability as well. He can just take without killing anyone and without stealing it. He doesn't. He doesn't think he deserves to see what they are seeing, to share what they have.  
And Peter doesn't offer either.

~+~  
Sometimes Peter doesn't come home at night. And Sylar knows why. Knows too much. How Peter sounds and tastes and he wishes he could see it again and maybe see it like Emma does. With colours around him like something unearthly, holy, maybe.  
Waiting for him feels like hitting the ground. Living here feels like this too. Counting the hours and minutes Peter is with her.  
Torture of a kind he didn't know before.  
Of a kind he doesn't want to know anything about.

**  
~Chapter Three~  
I am Sylar **

~+~  
“Thank you,” she says and she is staring at his lips as he replies. It's something she always does. Something he got accustomed to.

“No problem,” he answers. She smiles, touching his wrist. A finger slipping and catching on the sleeve of his shirt.  
A small gesture. A touch. And he can't take it. Not from her. She is too perfect and good and it's like being drowned in kindness.  
He might be different now, but he is still Sylar.

~+~  
He carves it into his skin one evening while Peter is out with her for the first time since he's back. Carves it into his arm again and again and again. The bathroom floor is stained with his blood. He thinks he needs to clean it up before Peter comes home in the morning. But the thought is distant.  
 _'I am Sylar.'_ Like he needs to remember who he is. He knows who he is, but he sometimes wishes he could be someone else. Just for a second and then remembers the terror of waking up being someone else and carves his name into his skin again. It doesn't matter how many times he does it. It never stays, it never scars.  
It's like his own body rejects who he is.  
He tries _'I am Gabriel'_ once and it looks wrong. Sounds wrong on his tongue. He is not Gabriel. He can never be. Not with the things he has done. Even before he was Sylar he wasn't really Gabriel. He was someone who needed to be shaped into what he is now. Sylar is who he is. Who he will always be. Who he maybe always was.

“I am Sylar,” he speaks the words out loud as he carves them into his skin. Hearing is believing. Or something like that.

~+~  
“Jesus, what did you do?” Peter asks one morning. He feels groggy and tired and the tiles are really cold.

“Fell asleep in the bathroom,” he answers getting up. His hand slips in his own blood. Smearing the tiles even more.

“Not that,” Peter says. He looks helpless. Like Sylar is something he can't fix. Sylar _is_ something he can't fix. And the reason is because he is not broken, well, or just not Peter's to fix. Not anymore.

“I..” he shrugs. He doesn't know how to explain that he is Sylar. Peter already knows that. Everyone knows that.

“What did you do?” Peter asks again.

“This,” he answers and carves _'I am Sylar'_ into his arm again. The blood drips into the puddle that is already there, but the wounds are closing up again.

“God,” Peter says, leaning heavily onto the door frame to the bathroom.

“I'll clean it up. I always do,” he answers. Peter gives him a sharp look.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because I am who I am.”  
Another endless moment. Another conversation they had already.

~+~  
“Tell me about you,” she says. Her eyes are fixed on him and he looks briefly at the clock. Peter should be home by now. Maybe he got held up in the hospital.

“I killed my mother and my father and Nathan,” he says. It's what she needs to know.

“Peter's brother?”

“Yes. I killed a lot of people actually,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted their abilities. I craved what they had,” it's a simple answer, but a honest one. It has to do. “I killed Peter,” he adds.

“It didn't take,” Peter says from the door. He turns around and Peter is smiling. A small, secret smile. Like this, their past, is amusing now. Now that it's over.

“You're late,” she says.

“I brought dinner on the way back...” he answers, holding up two bags. The sentence sounds like there is a word missing, but Sylar doesn't say it out loud.  
Peter squeezes his shoulder as he passes by and then leans down to kiss Emma on the crown of her head, before he disappears in the kitchen.

~+~  
“My nephew drowned while I was babysitting him,” she says and is not looking at him. She looks out of the window. And Sylar doesn't know why she tells him that for a second before things fall in place. He touches her hand gently to make her look at him.

“You didn't kill him,” he says.

“It feels like it,” she answers.

“You didn't want him to die. Not like I did with a lot of people...not like,” he stops. He doesn't know how much Peter told her.

“We all are guilty,” she says and it sounds like she means something else than the obvious.

“Some of us more than others,” he replies. She squeezes his hand and they sit there in silence until Peter gets back.

~+~  
She's spending more time at Peter's apartment. Sitting there and playing the cello. Making dinner, talking to him.  
Sometimes they're both waiting for Peter to come back. Sometimes she misses him when she needs to be in the hospital because she's working later than him.  
She never sleeps there.

“Because he is sleeping here,” she says one evening. And it's only because she thinks Sylar can't hear her.

“He lives here, that doesn't mean...” Peter falls silent.

“I'm deaf, not blind,” she answers, but it doesn't sound like an accusation.

“It's not,” Peter tries.

“It is, you can lie to yourself, but not to me,” she says and kisses him. Sylar can hear it. Lips on skin.  
Remembers how this feels and misses it.

~+~  
“I'm not afraid,” she says and he turns around to look her in the eyes, and so she can read his lips.

“Me neither,” he answers.

“So, it's Peter?”

“He is the hero,” Sylar answers shrugging. That is after all the only explanation there is and the only he can give her.

“You are as well,” she says.

“No, I am...” he stops, the word villain doesn't fit anymore.

“Sylar,” she finishes for him and he nods.

“Yes, I am Sylar.” And that is all he will ever be. And it's up to Peter to find a way to accept it.

~+~  
She kisses him the first time one cold morning in the kitchen. Standing on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek gently and then his lips before she grabs two mugs of coffee to take them with her into the bedroom. It's the first time she spent the night at Peter's apartment. And it is still Peter's apartment even if he's living here as well. For five months, two weeks and four days.

  
**~Chapter Four~  
A simple love with a complex touch **

~+~  
Even if Peter tries to keep his distance, he can't. Touching comes naturally to him and in the five years he got used to touching Sylar as well. There are hugs and pats on the shoulder and sitting too close on the couch. And he knows that Emma sees it as well. Emma knows. And she is not afraid, doesn't feel like Sylar is stealing something from her. He could never steal anything from her. Not anymore.

“Tell me about you two,” she says one evening when they're alone because Peter is visiting his mother after work.

“We were trapped in my mind for five years,” Sylar answers.

“Just you two?”

“Yes, just me and Peter and there was nothing else there that was alive. Nothing you could turn to,” he answers.

“This maybe was based on proximity, but that is not who Peter is,” she says, grabbing his hand.

“Who knows who Peter is?” he answers and doesn't tell her about how Peter killed him or Nathan or how he exploded over Kirby Plaza. She doesn't need all these things in her life.

“Are you afraid?” she asks.

“Of what?” A few months ago the answer would always be no. But now he is.

“Of people hunting us?”

“No, I know how that feels,” he says and she nods.

~+~  
“Maybe it's time to move on,” he says. Peter looks up from the book he curled up with on the couch. Since they've been back they usually read in the evenings or listen to Emma play the cello. Watching TV lost its appeal.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, laying the book aside.

“I can't live here forever. You and Emma need some space. I know you like her.”

“You like her as well,” Peter says and it's the first time he even acknowledges it. Sylar has learned not to be surprised.

“Well, she is nice and funny and smart,” he shrugs, there is nothing else to say. It's hard not to like her.

“I shared a lot of things with Nathan when we were younger,” Peter offers, he is not looking at Sylar.

“This is not about her,” Sylar answers, angrily. Can't Peter see that? This is not about Emma. About loving Emma, about sharing Emma. “Did you even talk with her about this?” he wants to know.

“Not yet, but I'm not blind. I see how she looks at you,” he answers, defiant. “How you look at her,” he adds, because Sylar doesn't speak.

“This is not about her,” he says again. And it's the truth, even if not the complete truth. Because of course it is about her as well, but it is about him and Peter. There is so much that they are not talking about.

~+~  
“I'm not your brother,” he spits. He has enough of this. This dancing. He can't take this, he knows how things work. He knows how Peter works. Knows what he wants even if Peter doesn't want to know. “I will never be your brother.”

“I know!” Peter answers, angry. “What does that have to do with anything?!”

“God! You're so stupid and afraid and full of issues about what you should want and what not! It doesn't matter anymore!” He backs Peter against the wall and slams his hand so hard against it that it cracks. Just inches away from Peter's head. “Who's going to judge you?” he asks, quietly.  
Peter closes his eyes and balls his hands to fists, an effort not to reach out and touch, and keeps quiet. “No one,” he says, stepping back and exhaling. Only you, he thinks and Peter's eyes snap open as if he has heard. Maybe he has. Maybe that one thought slipped, or was pushed into Peter's mind. Sometimes when he's around Peter he doesn't know what he is doing. It's unsettling at best.

~+~  
“This one I got from Lydia,” he says.

“What is it?” She looks curious at him.

“It can show you what you really desire,” he answers.

“Oh,” she says and then: “How does it work?”

“Give me the pen over there,” he says and she reaches over to get it. He pulls the sleeve of his shirt up and places the tip to his skin hard, so the ink can bleed in. “Now you need to touch me,” he instructs and she nods, placing one slender finger on his skin. The ink begins to shift and she watches as it forms shapes and figures and faces on Sylar's skin.

“I already knew that,” she says softly and looks up at him. “You knew it as well,” she adds and he nods. And then her fingers tighten around his arm and she leans forward to kiss him and he meets her halfway. The picture on his skin shifts until it's an erotic slide of three bodies, writhing against each other. But he doesn't see it, he's so caught up in her. Her lips and fingers and the heat of her body against his own.

  
**~Chapter Five~  
Anatomy of a heart **

~+~  
The first thing he hears when he opens the door is the cello. It sounds different. Somehow he is pulled in.  
She's sitting on Peter's bed, the cello between her legs, her skirt lying on the floor. She doesn't look up as he enters the room, but she smiles. He's already at her side when Peter grabs his arm. He turns around, confused, torn between what she wants and what Peter maybe wants. Peter's fingers are hot points of contact that scorch his skin.

“She's doing it,” Peter says.

“I know, I don't care,” Sylar answers. “I'm not afraid,” he adds, looking from Peter's finger on his skin to Peter's face. “Are you?” he asks. Peter lets go of his hand and leaves, closing the door. That is a yes, he thinks.  
She looks up then.

“He will come around. I know it,” she says. Sylar isn't that sure. After all Peter was raised Catholic. He is a hero and tries to do the right thing. This thing with Sylar was wrong from the beginning in so many ways. The soft sound the cello makes when she's putting it aside lets him look at her again.  
She is beautiful in a way that is hard to describe. Everything about her seems hard with a fluid core. And she wants him and he wants her.

“We're the same, but different,” he says, cupping her face in his hands, she leans into it. Without fear or hesitation.

“That's why he needs us and that's why we will win.”

~+~  
Sometimes he feels like she is taking him apart with her music and her body and her gift. Every little sound she makes is colour and form and beauty. He can understand why Peter always calls it a gift when he's talking about her ability. It's so much more than he could ever expect. Her gift is like her. Soft and warm and safe and never meant to be use for evil. Anger coils in his stomach when he thinks about her bleeding fingers.

~+~  
“Lydia could show you what you really desire,” she says, holding Peter's hand in hers.

“I don't need anyone to tell me what I desire,” he answers with a smile. She smiles back.

“I think you do.”

“Emma.”

“He can show you,” she says.

“Or you can do it yourself,” Sylar adds. He is willing to give Peter the ability he needs. It's not like he is losing anything by it. And even if he did, he doesn't think he would mind.

“I can show you how it works,” she says and grabs a pen. Sylar takes of his shirt and she pushes the tip into his skin so the ink can bleed in and then she kisses him. It's the first time she does it in front of Peter. And Sylar doesn't care. The fingers of her left hand dig into his hip, the other is still holding Peter's hand. Sylar is aware that Peter is watching them. Maybe him, maybe the pictures, shifting and forming and sliding against each other in an erotic dance. He nips her lip and she moans. It escapes her lips as pale blue light. Like faded stars.  
Peter's fingertips on his shoulder, trailing ink on his skin, come as a slight shock and he gasps. He can feel Peter shifting through all the abilities he has and then settling on Emma's. He doesn't know why he took it from Sylar, as she is standing right there, but he doesn't care.  
“I told you,” she whispers against his mouth as Peter's lips kiss their way down and up again, around the picture that is slowly fading. Sylar's fingers slip under her shirt and she shivers. Her skin feels hot and soft and so different from Peter at his back. He wants them naked and on the bed right now, but he doesn't dare to say it out loud. A part of him is still afraid Peter could back off. And run and maybe never come back.  
When she frees his lips Peter is there, holding his jaw this side of too hard and kissing like his life depends on it. Hard and unforgiving. Harsh breathing and too hot skin and his noises are dark red like blood.

“As are yours,” he says against Sylar's skin, just before he bites down. The sound he makes is something between a cry and a moan. Emma kisses the bite-mark, licks over it, her hands fumbling at his flies.

“Couch has to do,” she says, her voice harsh and beautiful. Peter pulls them both to the couch, so she lands on top of them. His shirt is gone and Sylar doesn't know when it happened or who did it in the first place, it doesn't matter.  
While Peter is getting rid of her shirt and pants, Sylar is kissing her breathless, circling her nipple with his fingers and he only knows that Peter is going down on her because her high pitched moan is bright green. He looks down. Peter looks amazing on his knees. Something inside him flares bright hot red and he slips his free hand into Peter's hair. Tugging so he looks up. Peter looks slightly amused and it makes Sylar laugh against Emma's skin. She moans and Sylar guides Peter's head back down again.

~+~  
Later when he's licking his own taste out of Peter's mouth and Peter's out of Emma's he can't suppress the slight outburst of happiness and he doesn't even try.  
Peter is sprawled on the floor, looking beautiful and well fucked. Like he always should look.

“Like you look yourself,” Peter says.

“Are you reading my thoughts?” he asks. Peter shrugs. That bastard. Sylar didn't even felt him take this ability.

“I heard that. Don't insult my mother,” he says, but he is joking. Emma is a warm snickering presence beside him, half leaning on the couch, her hand stroking Peter's shoulder. The sudden gasp she makes lets Peter look at her curiously. “What?”

“I...Sylar...” she says, breathing harshly. “Oh, god,” and then: “Don't stop!” Sylar smiles.

“Should have taken that one,” he says smugly, as Emma comes down again.  
Peter smiles.

~End~


End file.
